Tuesday, October 18, 2005

what? me, mature? whatever.

wow. i just re-read that post from last night. how embarassing. (*hangs head sheepishly*) i would delete it, but that would be violating the spirit of the diary and the concept of self-editing. this blog is as much a personal record of my life and experiences as it is a means of communicating those feelings and experiences to a wider audience. in other words, it's an archive as much as a publication. so as pathetic as that last entry is, i need to leave it in its pure, spontaneous state to stand as a monument to just how pathetic i can be. all the typos and misspellings convey more in their ineptitude than i possibly could this morning, cooly recounting last night's events in a state of mature sobriety. It's a work of art in the true Wordsworthian sense, who stated that "poetry is the spontaneous outpouring of powerful emotion." Wordsworth may have been a hypocrite, since he edited his poetry heavily over a period of months or even years, and perhaps he was only a great literary success becuase of his highly fortuitious surname, but i think he still had the right idea. Years from now my biographers will read back through this blog and they will come to last night's entry and chuckle, because the image i put forth of myself last night will stand in stark contrast to the woman i will have become, an impurturbable academic powerhouse who's global reputation for brilliant insight and astonishinly detailed work are about as far from the inebrieated postgraduate student as it is possible to be. And the biographers will write things like "Though 26 years old and already displaying a talent for Medieval linguistis which astonished her University of Bristol tutors, (the not yet) Dr. Bitch still displayed a childlike enthusiam for life and relationships, and was as gleeful at the prospect of a new companion as a pig-tailed schoolgirl on the playground." And all who read it will admire me and be charmed. So there. *spppttt!*

4 comments:

ZB said...

AAARGHHHHHH! The spontaneous overflow of human emotion RECOLLECTED IN TRANQUILITY!!!!!!! That's the bit that everybody forgets and that's the reason why art is still being defined by how it makes you feel as a producer or co-respondent rather than relation of form, structure and content to each other and the co respondent. It is a regular omission usually made by those who call themselves creative (with no hint of shame) and it really boils my piss. It sells the idea of the flash of inspiration, the clouds parting and God handing down the finished manuscript as cherubim and seraphim sing and denies the very real fact that all art is produced by hard work, sweat and teeth grinding frustration. There may be a flash of inspiration along the way but to realise it , you gotta work. FFS.

I'll now go and read the rest of the blog.

Moominmama said...

Oh, for fuck's sake. go blame my romantic lit prof from my undergrad days, prof. john gordon. he was the one who told me the quote, and if i only remember half of it it's becuase he only told me half of it. thank you for completing my obviously inadequate education, you over-stuffed self-important high-horsing renob. i'll go read the rest of your comment now.

ZB said...

That's Mr. Overstuffed blah blah blah renob to you...

hendrix said...

Everything I write is handed down in a one take flash of inspiration...(which may explain a lot)